


Watching

by FangQueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Horror, Night Terrors, Psychological Horror, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7976506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/pseuds/FangQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t realize he’d frozen in place until Ron jostled his shoulder and asked if he was alright. He said nothing in return, simply nodded and continued on their path. The truth was, he didn’t know what to say. How could he describe the sudden immeasurable dread he’d felt upon acknowledging what it was he was looking at?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Writcraft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/gifts).



> This fic was written for the LJ community [HP Dark Arts'](http://hp-darkarts.livejournal.com/) Back to School 2016 comment fest. It is based on the following prompt:
> 
>  **Prompt:** Like Thestrals, there are other things at Hogwarts not everyone can see. But after the war, Harry can see them and it's terrifying.  
>  **Suggested Pairing(s)/Character(s):** Harry centric, any other characters are entirely up to you  
>  **Anything Else:** Ghosts of the dead? Creatures? People trapped in limbo? Can Harry feel their pain or are they a threat to him? Is it all in his mind? Go wherever you want with this.
> 
> Look at me, writing something with Harry as a main character, haha. But since my _original_ works are all supernatural/psychological horror, I couldn’t resist a prompt like this.

Considering all that had happened there such a short time ago, it was a rather pleasant September morning their first day back. Despite his continued insistence that he’d only returned for his “eighth year,” as they were calling it, at Hermione’s urging, Harry was actually quite happy to be back. He would’ve traded having nothing to worry about but making it on time to class, or what he was going to have for lunch, for what he’d experienced over the course of the previous year any day. Repairs were coming along swimmingly, from what he’d seen, and although the air was somewhat heavy with the melancholy that came with acknowledging all those who could not be with them this term, he managed to feel content walking the halls once more, headed towards his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class in more months than he could fathom.

He didn’t know what it was, exactly, that had made him look. There had been no reason in particular for him to find the far end of the corridor they were passing by to be of any interest. He and Ron had been chatting animatedly about the reinstitution of the interhouse Quidditch matches, and suddenly he’d felt a tugging at the back of his mind, and he looked. The area was lit with the same warm, yellow glow from the cloudless sky that was filtering in through the rest of the windows in the castle that morning. And yet, something seemed amiss. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on...But then he watched as a group of second year Ravenclaws walked past down the next adjacent hallway and briefly vanished from his view behind what he’d originally thought to be just a shadow cast by one of the hanging tapestries.

He didn’t realize he’d frozen in place until Ron jostled his shoulder and asked if he was alright. He said nothing in return, simply nodded and continued on their path. The truth was, he didn’t know what to say. How could he describe the sudden immeasurable dread he’d felt upon acknowledging what it was he was looking at?

“I don’t understand what you mean. Are you talking about one of the ghosts, or…?”

That was Hermione’s reaction when he’d first told her. He hadn’t felt completely comfortable coming to anyone else about it. After all, his other friends had spent so many years listening to all of his strange visions and dealing with his scar burning and other such things they could never really know about themselves. With everything else going on lately, she was the only person left that seemed like they were still willing to hear him.

“Harry, you know...with everything that happened here, I mean, we knew we’d probably see more of them this year than ever. It’s a bit jarring at first, but it’s something we’ll unfortunately have to get used to.”

In hindsight, he should’ve known better than to think that someone as logical as her would believe him outright. She had chalked it up to an optical illusion and left the conversation at that. He didn’t know that he blamed her, though; he probably wouldn’t have believed it if he’d heard it from anyone else, either. And he wanted very much to agree with her on the subject, because the idea of what he’d actually seen was far more difficult to come to terms with.

A few nights later, he had woken with a start, a small gasp leaving him as he suddenly found himself sitting up in bed, his pajamas sticking to his damp skin. That, in itself, was not unusual. When one faced the trials he had in his life thus far, they often became accustomed to restless sleep as a result. Normally, he would manage to calm himself with a couple deliberate breaths before lying down again, but this time was different. Every hair on his body stood on end, and his nerves were dancing as if the atmosphere of their makeshift dorm room was electrified. Much as he wanted to, he found he couldn’t move. In an instant, he suddenly became aware of a pair of eyes watching him from his right hand side. The only movement he could control was to turn his head to look at it, and he struggled against it, even as he swivelled his own neck, feeling more than he ever had prior that he was going to see something he would regret.

There, in the corner beside Dean’s four-poster, was that same shadow. Somehow, even in the minimal moonlight bathing the room, he could see now that it had a head, which it tilted to the side as soon as he glanced its way. The aura around it was rippling, as if it wasn’t supposed to be in that space at all, like it had broken its way through layers of reality to get there. It was much taller than he recalled, which he noticed with startlingly clarity as it glided across the rug between them and came to stand at his bedside. As it neared, its whole body began to pulsate. The sight of it that close to him was almost too much for his mind to bear; he felt a migraine creeping into his brows, and his hands trembled as they gripped the sheets pooled around his lap. His thoughts were racing, louder than he’d ever heard them, as if they were a thousand voices screaming at him to look away, to forget what he was seeing, to pretend it was never there at all.

And then, just like that, it was gone.

He blinked several times, swallowing the fear-induced bile that rose threateningly in his throat, not fully trusting his eyes initially. Even after he’d accepted that it had left somehow, he remained upright for quite some time before feeling confident enough to attempt to go back to sleep. He’d stood at Death’s door more times than he could count--had encountered every terror he’d believed this world had held, from dementors to inferi to Lord Voldemort himself--had been to Limbo and back...but in all that time, he’d never felt anything quite like that.

Hermione still thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him. She’d even gone full muggle on him and claimed he was probably just having night terrors. She explained that something like that might be a common side effect of the traumas they were dealing with daily. That made sense, and yet, somehow he couldn’t believe that the now nightly visits he was receiving were just in his head. The being, as it gradually took on more and more of a defined shape each time, appeared too real to be anything but.

Originally, he’d thought there was merely the one, and that it had simply taken a special liking to him. Enough so to not only hover beside him whilst he slept, but also to follow him around the grounds as he attended classes and meals and Quidditch practices. He tried to point it out to his friends from time to time; they always laughed it off uncomfortably, thinking he was making a rather poor joke. It wasn’t long before he stopped referencing it altogether--about the same time he began to realize just how many of them there were, as fall became winter, and everyone around him began to decline.

Hermione’s was the next one, after his own, that chose to make it’s presence known to him. Hers was shorter, and it had spindly little limbs and sharp, grasping hands that it would crawl across the floor and cling to her with as it twirled between her legs. Sometimes it would sit beside her and cuddle against her arm, and he’d fight the desire to smack it away from her. Malfoy’s nearly made him piss himself the first time he’d seen it, trailing along behind the pale husk of a young man like a spectre, a pearly white set of pointed teeth fixed in a broad grin across its otherwise dark face. One night, they returned to the eighth year’s combined common room to find Ron huddled on the floor, sobbing into his hands, books, vases, portraits, all manner of objects that they’d decorated the place with smashed and in tatters around him. His was in its usual position, its goblin-like body attached to the back of his jumper, and it was gnawing incessantly at the nape of his neck. When they asked him what had happened, all that he could choke out for the remainder of the night was that he missed Fred--and he’d repeated it over and over until they’d force-fed him a sleeping draught.

They swarmed the halls, each taking on their own unique appearance and personality, each connecting themselves with a particular student. He didn’t know what they wanted. He didn’t know why they were there, or why no one else seemed to know about them. He just knew that whenever that hand closed on his shoulder, it was so cold and strong and solid, and so not just in his head, no matter how much he wished it. And whenever he caught a glimpse of those piercing red eyes, an unimaginable blackness swept over him, like he was falling into an abyss, and there was nothing left for him to hold on to.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments = <3!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://ohlookagaydraco.tumblr.com/) and [LJ](http://fangqueen.livejournal.com/) as well!


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